A Spectrum of Light
by Covenmouse
Summary: From a single crystal shines an entire rainbow--A compilation of short stories about love, friendship and everything in between.
1. Poison

**[A/N] **_A Spectrum of Light_ is a compilation of short stories done for a prompt/theme community on LJ. All were written by me, but they range in style, mood and pairings. Almost everything here is romance but you may find one or two that are based upon friendship or other such emotional connections. I've added "pairing" titles above each piece to warn those who'd rather not read specific ones.

3 ~Rae

**Title:** Sweet Poison  
**Pairings:** Rei/Jedite

**Theme:** Poison

Her eyes were laced with arsenic. He could feel them from across the room, choking off his breath and slicing chills down the length of his spine. He had felt them from the moment that he'd entered the music suffocated night club, even before his eyes had found her on the upper balcony.

Their call was alluring, devastating, toxic. He tried to resist them and only found himself drawn further towards her. It was irresistible, unavoidable—he never should have come. Why had he? The deeper her poison crawled into his veins, the less he could remember. His friends had come with him but he didn't see them now; all there was to the world was the darkness, the thrum of the music, and her.

Up the stairs she'd drawn him though she'd not moved an inch from the balcony railing. Her friends were with her but as none of them tried to stop his approach they were inconsequential. She was radiant in perniciousness and burgundy silk. The fires of damnation hung caressing her skin, swishing over the gentle ivory as she took a solitary step towards him. It was more than she had ever done previously; perhaps, this time, she felt it too, the spell that she cast upon him. Or perhaps it was simply a part of that spell, to make him think that she was trapped as he was.

He'd never felt the effects of drugs but still he knew this for what it was: addiction. His hand outstretched to touch her and she let him tip that gentle chin, that moon-shaped chin, up to meet his lips as they descended upon hers.

Sweet acid—wonderful, excruciating acid—filled his mouth with her touch. It was eating him alive. She was eating him alive… he let her. Suicide was painless.


	2. Ashes

**Title:** My Fire  
**Author**: Covenmouse  
**Theme**: Ashes  
**Pairing**: Rei/Nephrite

All my life I had searched for something. It was in the back of my head telling me, constantly, that I had missed something crucial. Perhaps it had to do with the dreams.

Ever since I was a young boy, I could remember being woken at night with strange dreams. People and places that were distant, fuzzy and yet so utterly clear they were heartbreaking. It made no sense and I soon came to the realization that I made no sense. My parents brushed the dreams off as imagination and, taking them for their word as any child will, I began to write my "stories" down. In those days they weren't anything special—the scribbling of a child rarely amount to anything extraordinary—I told myself my stories and the children in my classes wrote me off as "strange" and "weird." And, the longer that this continued, the more my parents seemed to agree with them.

Then the fire claimed them.

I remember standing in the street, choking upon the smoke which had filled my lungs, and watching as the paramedics loaded my mother into the back of the ambulance. She smiled at me through the ashes on her cheeks and I never saw her smile again. That was when the stories stopped.

It was a church that took me in, then. I became their ward and the priest taught me; I loved the priest as a grandfather, for my parents had not had any family either. In a way it seemed like fate, that two orphans should in turn orphan their child. Or perhaps it was the Gods laughing at us.

The priest had had a family once. Brothers and sisters, and a mother and father, and many nieces and nephews and cousins… I did not know why he didn't speak with them anymore. The nuns whispered that another type of fire altogether had consumed them, and that was what had driven the Priest to God. I didn't care what the reason was, because it made me closer to my Priest.

He loved the stars, that Priest. It's sad, in its own sort of way, how the people who make the most difference in our lives are often the ones we have the most trouble remembering. I have no idea what his name was, but I remember clearly the nights we spent in the garden of the church, taking turns looking through an old telescope and learning the stories of the stars.

He died when I was ten. They turned his body to ash.

As much as I loved the Priest I could not bring myself to believe in his God. His death had brought the dreams back, more rich and vibrant than ever before. I felt my heart call me elsewhere and soon the call became to great to ignore. When I was sixteen I left the church for good.

The stars told me where to go and where to work. They would guide me in my dreams and show brightly in the night to tell me which path to follow. Most people travel in daylight in this day and age; I did not—I could not. If I did, who would guide me?

Somehow I ended up on a boat. From there I made my way across the world. Places of religion became my best friends, and I learned many things about the callings of the stars. These places seemed to ease that ache, that fire which burned inside of me and told me to find its source. I was scared to be consumed by this fire, scared of turning to ash.

Across the world I went and soon I found myself twenty-four in a world of isolation. The island world through which I now traveled was not one welcoming for most travelers; I ignored this and continued on. My Stars told me to find the shrine that I might learn of this religion, too.

It was there that I met her, my fire. She tended the shrine and her heart heard my calling. There was ash upon her cheek and she was smiling.


	3. Forget Me Not

**Title:** A Soft Shade of Blue  
**Author:** Covenmouse  
**Theme:** Forget-Me-Not  
**Pairing**: Ami/Zoisite (Zacharie ;D)

Pale blue hair wasn't common to either of their people; he didn't think it was common on anyone, actually, save a small percentage of elderly ladies who only wore their hair on Sunday. Somehow he doubted that that observation would go over very well aloud and so he didn't say it. Instead, Zacharie Babineaux watched this blue-haired angel from across the room and considered her every move.

By the end of the night he knew that she was shy, but intelligent; capable of holding her own in a conversation, yet reluctant to speak up in a crowd. She did not drink and she couldn't be bothered to dance, though more than a few of her other admirers had asked her. He felt like a stalker.

It wasn't often that Zacharie found himself hesitating in speaking to a woman, though that rarely helped his case where said women were concerned. More often than not he'd been shoved to the side as a "friend" or "fellow woman" within a mere word or two and was then forced to listen to all the attributes of his Tall, Dark, and Handsome competition. How that second title was gained Zacharie would never fathom; certainly he took pride in his appearance and was somewhat better kempt than his peers, but he was on no uncertain terms quite masculine. Somewhere, somehow, women everywhere seemed to have formed the conclusion that no heterosexual male could be sensitive, well spoken and charming without harboring devious intent or otherwise preferring the company of their own kind. Zacharie supposed he should just count himself lucky that he'd never, to his knowledge, been written off as the former.

And tonight such false assumptions were what kept him from crossing the ballroom of the Crystal Palace to speak with the lovely, doe-like creature currently hiding herself behind one of the gargantuan marble pillars that supported the lofty room's lofty ceiling. A dark shape lingered near her, swathed in black and red with a glass untouched in her hand. That one's eyes were like a raven's, even from across the room; she dared any and all to approach her, warning them with a single look, or a single gesture that she would cut them down where they stood and dance upon the graves later. It was that challenge which spurred him to slip his way about the edge of the room until he was leaning against the pillar opposite his icy-pale beauty.

Zacharie entertained himself for a moment by listing the most cliché opening lines that he could come up with. "Nice night for a party." "Rather dull, isn't it?" "I don't believe I've ever seen so lovely a gala." There were other, less pretentious ones suited more for a bar or cocktail event, but even these "classier" versions of unimaginative hype weren't likely to work on this lady… and he did want it to work.

"I don't believe I've ever seen quite that shade of blue," he said instead, speaking more into his cup though he knew that she could hear him. Two brilliant, gleaming eyes peeked at him from around the pillar, curious and wide as if their owner wasn't quite certain she'd heard correctly. When he'd judged that his reaction would be seen as nonchalant, he tipped his head to the side, temple brushing lightly against the stone, and met her gaze with a smirk. "It's lovely. There are so few women who could pull it off."

A shade of scarlet appeared beneath the eyes and the angel emerged just a little more from her hiding place. One hand rose to her chin, fingers curled, as she formulated a reply; Zacharie gave her the time, idly sipping at his champagne. He wondered if this one would write him off as well.

"Forget-me-not," the woman finally seemed to decide, glancing nervously at his face before her gaze fell down to their shoes. Perhaps she was watching the reflection upon the marble.

"Hm?" He leaned forward just enough to press into her personal space and renew the blush that had been gracing those porcelain cheeks.

"F-forget-me-not," she repeated and those slender, lovely fingers twisted into a lock of her shoulder-length hair. "It's… dyed. That colour."

"It suits you," he whispered gently, surprised to find himself completely charmed; was there any other girl who would admit so openly to dyed hair? He hadn't met one, they were all too vain. A part of him said that the dye was obvious—how many people had naturally blue hair?—and the rest of him kicked it and told it to shut up.

"Ami?" the shade that had been standing with her appeared around the pillar and those accusing eyes narrowed, "Is this guy bothering you?"

"No," Zacharie threw caution to the wind and smiled at his blushing angel, "Ami was just agreeing to a dance."

Before either could protest, he took her hand in his and pulled her onto the floor.


	4. The Blame Game

**Prompt**: "The man who smiles when things go wrong has thought of someone to blame it on."

The two stood before her grubby faced with clothes asunder, each with their head bowed and fingers knotted into fists.  Each set of light-coloured eyes glared down at the feet to which they belonged, as if willing the floor to bow to their collective anger.  The marble paid no heed, and simply threw their petulant faces back up at them in a hazy mirror.

Serenity shook her head slowly and forced the smile from her lips.  The situation wasn't funny, especially with Baron Vodker standing not too far away with a scowl fit to scare Hades, except that it undoubtedly _was_.  She cleared her throat, hiding another twitch of her lips behind her fingers, and then lifted her chin.  "So.  What do you two have to say for yourselves?"

Zoicite's chin snapped up along with a finger pointing to the girl at his right.  "She did it."

"I did not!" Mars shrieked, and the knuckles of her fists went white.  Her blazing eyes turned up toward the queen, "It was all him, I swear it!"

"Like anyone would take your word, hot head!"

"Of course she will, I'm a Senshi!"

"Yeah, well, I'm a Shittenou!"

"So? Who cares about icky old Endymion anyway!"

"Better than a whiny princess," Zoisite huffed and crossed his arms.  Serenity arched a brow and then the boy went pale.  "I.. er.. Uh... That is."

"Hah," Mars snickered, "Stuck your foot in it now."

"But I didn't do anything!" He threw his hands into the air.  Then, with a wild gesture at the princess, he turned pleading eyes to the queen, "It was fire, so it obviously was her!"

"Was not!" Mars protested with a stomp of her foot.

"Children," Serenity interjected.  When they'd both looked at her, Serenity smiled softly, "Please.  Just tell me who burnt down the Baron's doghouse."

They fidgeted a moment, each with a lip jutted out and scowling.  She wondered if they knew how alike they looked in that moment, despite opposing colour pallets.  And then they looked at one another.  Serenity's brow arched as similar smiles stretched across both their faces.

Together, the two imps looked up at their queen.  "The dog did it."


	5. Laughter

**Prompt**:  "The woman I love burns with jealousy, leaps to conclusions, cries, and turns to ice, but when she laughs, the world is mine."

**Summary/Notes**:  Rei and Jason make up after a fight.  I'll put language notes at the bottom (and yes, there is a point to this, I swear it.)

On his wedding day, his father had imparted some marital advice. _ "Never go to bed angry,"_ the man had said as he sipped his twelfth martini and wobbled in place.  Jason wondered if his father had met Rei, but kept this observation to himself.  Three years later, the memory swirled across the backs of his eyelids as he laid in bed beside a very pissed off wife. 

The temple was quiet, the noise of the city around them dampened by the thirty-six floors between them and the streets below, but for the dull drip of water somewhere in the apartment beyond and Rei's steady breathe beside him.  That she was awake he had no doubt--so maybe this didn't count, exactly.  

Jason huffed a sigh and sat up.  He leaned over to turn on his bedside lamp and then turned to her; Rei rolled onto her stomach, her face tilted away.  "Let's talk about this."

When there was no response, he laid back down upon his side and scooted onto her "side" of the futon.  Jason propped himself up with one elbow as his other hand lifted to brush his fingers through her silken hair. "Rei..."

She tried to brush his hand away, so he caught her fingers, and then the woman rolled over to look at him.  "Urusai," she snapped, and turned away again, but not before he saw the redness to her eyes.  Frowning, Jason let her hand go and settled his fingers around her shoulder.  

His lips settled in a firm line, "You know I don't understand that."  She didn't respond, and he clamped his lips shut against all the things he wanted to say; they'd had enough yelling for one night, and the baby was asleep down the hall. 

It was ridiculous, the whole thing, and he knew it.  Staring down at her back, he considered the rest of the advice his father had given  him that night.  _"It doesn't matter if it means something to you.  What matters is if it means something to her."_

The hand on her shoulder slipped down around her waist and he pressed his chest to her back.  Rei stiffened in his hold, but still he pressed his nose into her hair.  It smelled of cherries, like it always did.  When she didn't elbow him away, he smiled.

"Ichi nen sei ni nattara, ichi nen sei ni nattara," he whispered in hoarse chant beneath her ear, "tomodachi hyakunin dekiru kana hyakunin de tabetai na fuji san no ue de onigiri o pakkun pakkun pakkun to..."

By the time that he finished, her shoulders were shaking and when she rolled over to face him, her eyes were bright and merry, despite the red.  "Where did you learn that?" Rei chuckled.

"You were singing it to Ashton the other day," He shrugged, "I have a good memory."

"Mmm, that  you do."  The woman sniffed, a last homage to their fighting, and then her arms looped around his neck.  She grinned as she leaned in, "So tell me.  What else will you do when you become a fist grader?"

**

**Language Notes**:

Urusai -- Literally "noisy," used by itself it can be translated as "You're noisy," "too much noise," "Very loud," or even "shut up."  In this context, it's safe to assume that Rei means "shut up."

"Ichi nen sei ni nattara..."  -- These are lyrics to the song "年生になったら" or "When I Become a First Grader," a common children's song from Japan.  Translation, and an MP3 of it, can be found at The Japanese Page.


	6. A Thousand Lifetimes

**Prompt**: "I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times, in life after life, in age after age forever."

"If you'll all turn your textbooks to chapter eight..."

The professor at the front of the lecture hall continued to drone much like the buzzing cicada outside the windows. Positioned beside the glass at the back of the room, Mamoru could only just hear the man, and even then could only make sense of ten percent of what was being said. At least Professor Higgins was writing some of it down, and Mamoru belatedly flipped his text book open to the appropriate page.

It would be impossible (and pointless) to try to mentally translate a lecture he couldn't hear the majority of, and so he turned his attention to the book, instead, glancing up often enough to notice any change of topic. Printed English was easier to translate than the Professor's cramped script, anyway.

A glance down at his usual row near the front of the room, which had been fully occupied by the time he'd come rushing into the classroom with half a minute to spare, Mamoru picked out a familiar head of blue-black hair. He'd have to get the notes from Ami, later. That was the sole reason he was in this class, after all--when he'd found out that he needed an elective this semester, and nothing had sounded all that interesting, it had been the wisest course of action to find out which class Ami was taking and see if he could fit it into his schedule. He just wished that course hadn't been an overview of Egyptology.

He flipped another page in the text book, and paused his translation of the english text to glance over the pictures on the page. His heart stopped for a sickening moment on a pair of bright sepia eyes.

He would know those eyes anywhere, though the face was different. Even then, the differences were only minimal. She was a small, quaint looking British woman with long blonde hair and a beaming smile; beside her was a freshly uncovered collection of statues, The Goddess Bast prominent among them, and a man several years her senior. His hand was placed upon her elbow, but there was an obvious affection between them which seemed to radiate off the page.

_"Doctor Adam Markowitz and wife, Ellen, at the Karanis dig; circa 1920," _read the caption.

Below him, Ami's head jerked up from her book and she turned to stare, wide-eyed, at Mamoru. He caught her eyes and smirked; what could he say? He loved the girl.


End file.
